


Kill Harry Styles

by loveleedstolarry



Series: Kill Harry Styles [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:29:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveleedstolarry/pseuds/loveleedstolarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry finds the killharrystyles Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill Harry Styles

**Author's Note:**

> someone made a killharrystyles tumblr, and i didn't like it. so i wrote about it. screen shots (if they show up) are all real. they were from the blog before it got deleted. nothing on those is edited (except the crossed out usernames)
> 
> i know a lot of people don't like first person, but if it makes you feel any better, the sequel's in third person?
> 
> if for some reason you can't see the pictures, try reading it on **[my Tumblr](http://loveleedstolarry.tumblr.com/post/34651025544/kill-harry-styles)** instead. it should work there xx

[ ](http://loveleedstolarry.tumblr.com/post/34659133691/someone-wrote-about-harry-so-i-wrote-about-their)

****  
[](http://loveleedstolarry.tumblr.com/post/28527114000/x)

➜ [Read on Tumblr](http://loveleedstolarry.tumblr.com/post/34651025544/kill-harry-styles)

+

**“It was one of those times where you’re kind of feeling a bit sorry for yourself. See, you’re looking for bad comments to kind of make that sure you’re right about your being bad. So, I went online and I had a look at what people were saying about me.”**

**~o~**

Today was complete and utter _shit_. Pardon my French. But it was. It was just one of those days that seemed to get progressively worse each minute. It didn’t start off bad, to tell you the truth. I woke up, I kissed him- or maybe he kissed me. I lose track. Either way, we kissed. And it felt good. It felt _right_. We got dressed and continued sharing little kisses in between. And it kept on feeling right.

Until we walked out the door.

Everything turned wrong then. We weren’t allowed to kiss. Because that was wrong. And that would ruin our image. Which would turn fans away. Which would ruin the band. We weren’t allowed to hold hands. Because that was also wrong. Hell, we were barely allowed to look at each other, let alone talk to each other. Because god-forbid that it even _looked_ like Louis and I were friends. Because friends don’t look at each other like Louis and I do apparently. Then again, Louis and I aren’t friends. We’re much more than that. It feels like we almost skipped the friends part as soon as we met. From the word go we were just… _us_ around each other. We never had to go through the awkward first meeting phase like everyone seemed to go through. Truth be told, neither of us were really that cuddly to begin with, but one night on a result show, we were so nervous. See, we thought we had done really bad- not just us- the band as a whole. We were ready for the words that would send us packing. I remember shaking in my shoes, trying to keep my breathing calm when all of a sudden a felt a wave of peace go through me. I didn’t even need to check to see that Louis had put his hand on the small of back. Louis just gives off this good vibe. But it changes, you see. Like, if he’s his usually happy loud self, the vibe seems to draw you in, making you feel as hyper and happy as he appears to be. When he’s nervous, you suddenly find yourself jittery and biting your finger nails, even if you’re not even nervous. But when he’s calm, he’s got this almost _peaceful_ feel to him. It’s actually really helpful during solos.

But when we walked into the last interview of the day we had been separated as soon as we had stepped foot into the room. And as much as I would love to say that just his presence has the power to calm me down- or something cheesy like that- it doesn’t. I need to _feel_ him. Need his hand on my back, or his knee touching mine, or even his damn TOMs pressed up against my shoe. I just need to the feel the physical connection if anyone expects me to make it through any of these nosy interviews. Unfortunately, we have had this interviewer before, so yes, I knew for a fact that this woman was over the top in her pushiness when it comes to getting information. She had no tact either; she just goes on and blurts the question out. It makes her sound so impatient and arrogant, and rude, and-

“So, Louis, how’s your relationship with Eleanor going? Must feel good being One Direction’s new power couple after the split between Liam and Danielle.”

And a _bitch_.

Beside me, I see Liam flinch, and just like that, I’m pissed. I’m not even sure if the woman was trying- and failing miserably- at being funny, but you don’t just bring that up. Ask Louis about his fake girlfriend all you want, but you really don’t need to drag the rest of us through the mud. To my left, I see Louis swallow nervously before muttering something about his relationship is ‘great’. Dandy. Perfect. Fucking flawless. He catches my eye once he’s done answering and sends me a little smile of sympathy. I try to return it, but it must be off because it’s got Louis frowning slightly and biting his lip nervously.

Since Louis is the only one available to talk about his relationship- Zayn’s on vocal rest- that’s what he does. Is it so bad that I think the woman must on a whole new level of dense for not hearing the false enthusiasm in his voice when he talks about it though? Maybe I am, but I can’t help it when it’s the loudest thing in the room.

As he continues on for what seems like forever, I find myself idly wondering what it’d be like to be _out_ with Louis. I let myself daydream- which is always a dangerous things to do during interviews, if I may add. I say this because my face apparently gets real sad looking when I start to daydream. This is probably due to the fact that all my daydreams are exactly that. Dreams. But I can’t help it, if it gets me through then fucking management better be appreciative I don’t just spontaneously combust. I’m in the middle of thinking how good it’d feel to have Louis’ fingers at the nape of my neck, playing with some of the longer strands of hair there; how good it would feel to just be holding hands on the table that’s in front of us. It’s nothing dirty or over the top PDA. I dream about the simple things. The little things. Daydream Louis is in the middle of tugging on one of my curls when someone’s suddenly pulling me from my alternate universe.

“Harry?”

It’s Niall, and I suddenly see everyone’s eyes on me. I freeze. _Oh shit, what did I do now_ , is all I can think. And wow, is that not just pathetic that I automatically think that it’s _my_ fault for whatever bad thing’s happened now? And yeah, I know it’s bad because one glance at Louis’ slightly sadden eyes tells me all I need to know.

“What?” I ask, and my voice sounds weird for some reason, but I’m still a little slow.

“You’re crying,” Liam says quietly.

“What?” I swipe at my eye and sure enough it comes away wet. “Oh, shit,” I say, without thinking. “I’m sorry,” I say, standing up hesitantly. “I need to run to the restroom.” Out the large window that’s set into the wall opposite of me, I see one of our management roll his eyes, but I don’t care. Fuck him. I don’t even wait for a response before I’m ripping off the microphone from my shirt and heading in the direction of where I thought I saw a bathroom on the way here.

Thank god it’s one of those family ones so it’s just a big single room bathroom because suddenly I’m crying, and I don’t even know why. It’s just one of those days. I couldn’t tell you what caused it if you asked. I’m trying my best not to be loud about it, but I must be slightly louder than I thought because maybe five minutes later there’s a knocking on the door.

“Babe?” Louis asks through the door. “Harry, please let me in. The interview’s over.” I sniffle and after another moment Louis says, “It’s just me.”

I don’t even bother getting up from my spot on the floor- yes I’m sitting on the bathroom floor, but it seemed like a fancy building when I came in, so I figured the floors can’t be _that_ bad- and reach up to unlock the door. When Louis sees me I must not look too great because he’s collapsing next to me and my head’s suddenly against his chest.

“Oh, Hazza,” he soothes, running his thumb over my still wet cheek. And I feel him shift so he’s sitting on the floor too instead of kneeling, and I let out another quiet sob because Louis’ sitting on a bathroom floor. With his favorite red pants. And I feel bad.

“I’m fine,” I mumble, but it’s a stupid thing to say because it comes out as a small hiccup.

“You are,” Louis agrees though, kicking the door closed with his foot. “Because you’re with me. You’re okay, baby, you are.” He presses a kiss to my hair, right above my ear. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, and I cry again because I’m really not. But he says it anyway.

“No I’m not,” I voice aloud. “God, I can’t even keep it together for a damn interview,” I croak.

“Hey now, it’s been a tough day,” Louis consoles, and I love him to death for it, but I still feel sad. But I don’t tell Louis that. Instead, I just let him pet my hair and rub small circles on my back with his small hand until my tears have dried and it seems that for now that I won’t be crying anymore.

I keep my head ducked as we make our way from the building to the van that’s supposed to bring us home. Liam has a protective arm around me while Zayn has one around Niall. Of course the one interview where I break down crying for no apparent reason just happens to be one of the ridiculous large crowds, and although Niall has definitely gotten better with them, they still make him fidgety. From the corner of my eye I can see Zayn pull Niall closer to him when a random hand appears from seemingly nowhere from the crowd and makes a grab for him. It makes me jealous that Zayn gets to have his arm around Niall without management doing shit. Because they’re not under suspicion. Then it just makes me sad because it makes me wish that it was Louis with his arm around me instead Liam. And then I feel bad because I should be grateful that Liam’s doing this at all. Then I feel like crying for taking him for granted. Liam must notice because he starts talking about nothing, just trying to calm me down and keep my mind off of things.

We finally make it to the van and as soon as the door’s shut, Liam is replaced by Louis and I’m curled up into him, trying not to cry again. He has his arm around my shoulders and is hugging me closer to him, telling me how when we get home he’s going to make us some tea. He jokes about how we’ll cuddle up on the sofa after and watch a sad movie so I can cry and have a reason. This all sounds perfect to me, to be honest, and I’m all for it when I see Liam get off the phone with someone, not looking happy. My suspicions grow when I see him lean across the seat to whisper something in Louis’ ear. And he must say it extremely low because I’m right next to him and I barely hear a thing. Just something about ‘tonight’. Louis stops telling me about what we’re going to do when we get home then, telling me to just close my eyes and sleep for now. I’m worried now, but I do anyway, because being sad always makes me tired. _I’ve been tired a lot lately_ , I think before I fall asleep.

I wake up in our bed and instinctively go to curl into the spot where I know Louis would be, looking for the warmth. But Louis’ not there; my foot, however, hits something as I turn over. Blinking my eyes open sleepily, I see Louis, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, hands in his lap.

“What’s wrong, Lou?” It’s then I notice that he’s changed his clothes from the ones he was wearing for the interview earlier. Except, instead of a pair of his comfy pyjamas pants I’m used to seeing when he plans on spending the night in, he’s wearing something a little dressier. I look at the clock to see that it’s only 1 PM. “Why are you still dressed up?” I ask, turning back to him, reaching my hand out.

He takes it and swings it back and forth gently before saying, “I have date.”

So that’s what Liam had told him the car. “Oh,” I say, letting my hand drop dejectedly.

“Aw no, Haz,” Louis pleads gently, picking my hand back up immediately, pressing his lips to it. Holding it under his chin, he looks at me with those sad, pleading eyes. “I didn’t know about it until in the car, I swear.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me then?” I mumble.

Louis bites his lip thoughtfully. “You were already so sad, babe,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to my knuckles. “And I thought I’d be able to get out of it, to be honest, but when I called, they shut me down.”

“Don’t go,” I plead, pulling him gently towards me. “Stay,” I demand softly and close my eyes when he skims his nose lightly up and down the side of my face.

“I would if I could, Harry,” he says sadly, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You know I would.”

“But you _can_ ,” I insist.

But Louis shakes his head sadly. “I tried so hard, love. You have to believe that. I fought them tooth and nail to stay home tonight, but they weren’t having it.”

I sigh, but nod my head in acceptance. I’ve kind of gotten use to the feeling of having Louis taken away from me. I’ve found it easier to just nod my head and say ‘okay’ because the sooner he goes away the sooner he comes back.

“Hey,” Louis says gently, hooking a finger under my chin so I’m looking up at him. “It’s only for an hour and half. Two tops, swear,” Louis promises.

“Okay,” I whisper. “How much time do we have before…?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Louis responds.

I feel tears well in my eyes because it seems like that’s all I ever get with Louis anymore. Minutes. _Five minutes till the car’s here_ , Liam will yell most mornings. _Ten minutes till we air_ , an interviewer will announce.

“Don’t cry, love,” Louis says gently, wiping a stray tear away.

I don’t say anything, just cup the back of Louis’ neck and pull him down to me. That’s how we spend our fifteen minutes this time. Just kissing. Not trying to work up to anything- because we don’t have time for that- not even talking. I just focus on the feel of Louis lips on mine and try not to focus on the fact that time’s ticking away with every pulled lip, swipe of a tongue, and sad sigh that’s passed between us.

When Louis leaves, he says, “I’d rather be with you,” like he always does. And then he’s gone.

Not in the mood to stay in our bed with Louis’ empty to spot to mock me, I get up and start padding around in the kitchen, cleaning various things and straightening different objects. It’s a habit of mine; to clean. I do it whenever I’m nervous or bored or trying to keep my mind off things. Mostly I do it to keep myself from wondering about things. Wondering about _us_ ; Louis and I. Because when I wonder, I worry. And when I worry, I have to find a way to stop. That usually comes in the way of the internet.

In my defense, I hardly ever go on Twitter anymore. That one’s too risky for seeing things that I just know won’t make me feel better. And besides, it’s not safe anymore with management lurking around that site. So I go on Tumblr. I think it’s actually pretty smart because Tumblr is a little more easily navigated than Twitter, I’d say. In Twitter, just search your name and a bunch of shit pops up, good and bad. On Tumblr though, you just find someone with a nice URL and go to their page. And you know what, with a URL that’s dedicated to you, or to you and your boyfriend, it’s highly unlikely that you’ll find anything bad about you. That’s why I like it so much. That, and it takes up obscene amounts of time. I spend a good half hour on a page for Louis and I, reading nothing but nice and supportive posts about us, watching pictures and pictures of us scroll by. That’s what’s great about it though; on a page with Louis and I’ name and something like the word ‘love’ all smashed into one big URL, I never have to worry about seeing anything bad about us.

I’m a good five pages into this person’s blog when I see it though. Something bad. Something that I shouldn’t click on. Something that I honestly never expected to see on  page about us. Something about _me_. I read the anonymously asked question over again, making sure I’m actually seeing it right. And I know I shouldn’t click it, shouldn’t copy and paste the URL that has my name and the word kill all in one big word into the search bar. But I do, because it’s _there_.

And suddenly, I’m seeing all of it. It’s a simple blog, one of Tumblr’s defaults I assume. But there’s a tiny picture of me and a long description under it. And I can’t help but read it.

I think it’s a joke at first, someone trying to be funny- because someone being so _disgusting_ that they need to be _soaked in_ _bleach_ is funny, right? It’s made to make people who are less sensitive than myself laugh… right?  _They’re just trying to get people’s sympathy_ , I think when I read about the ruining Louis’ friendship-slash-relationship with Eleanor.

I mean, they’re friends, I know that, because when two people are forced to be together, you’re bound to become friends. But, it’s not like Eleanor’s harboring a secret crush on my boyfriend and I’m just in the way… right? I can’t help but think it’s true though, because honestly, Lou’s amazing. Anyone would be crazy not to want him. I sniffle again because I’m right, I know I am. Lou’s amazing and he’s being forced to be in a relationship where he has to hide every nice thing he does. I can’t help but suddenly feel bad for being the reason that no one gets to see how sweet Louis really is. Because he is. He’s so much more than the sassy jokester that people make him out to be. He comforts me when I’m sad, and… and, what if Eleanor is crying one day and he can’t _do_ anything about it- can’t be that amazing, loving, comforting person I know he is- because he’s  _mine_. Except no one knows that because we’re a secret. Because according to the world, we’re  _wrong_. So in the end, Louis looks like a bad person, a bad boyfriend. Someone who’s above looking like a caring person in front of the cameras and- oh my god,  _I’m_  the reason people don’t like him. I bite my lip to keep it from trembling, and even though I know I shouldn’t read anymore, I do.

 _What’s so sick and freaky about being in love_ , I can’t help but wonder. Then I wish I hadn’t because I can think of a few. It really is sick that we have to hide, but I guess people see us more as brothers. And I can’t blame them, because isn’t that how we come off? Just five best friends, brothers who have bonded through this experience. I always thought my relationship with Louis came off a little differently than with Liam or Niall or Zayn, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe we just seem like brothers to the fans. And being in love with your brother…. that  _is sick_.

I can’t help but feel a little mad when the girl starts attack the Larry fans though. Because no one deserves to _die_ for believing in something. No matter what that something is. I get a little angrier when I see the girl saying Louis hates them, because Louis loves every single one of our fans. No matter how sassy he gets, he’s well-intentioned and has a good heart- the best, actually. But people don’t get to see that if they follow Louis and Eleanor’s relationship because Louis doesn’t come off that way with her. Because of me. The whore.

I choke when I see that word and feel a few more tears slide down my cheeks. _It’s a joke, it’s a joke, it’s a joke_. I say it like a mantra in my head, but if someone were to see my face now, I can’t help but think how they’d very obviously point out that I’m. Not. _Laughing_. But maybe I’m missing the joke that everyone else has no trouble seeing.

I’m confused at first by the quote marks, so I scroll further down to see what the person is referring to.

Tears are falling freely from my face now, and as I wipe a few away, I can’t help but think how right this person is. If only on this one post. I haven’t told anyone else in the band, but I feel like I’m losing pieces of myself every day. Every time I listen to Louis lie, I feel a piece of my heart chip away at the fact that I’m the reason that he can’t stay true to himself. Can’t help but think that he should be able to be in a relationship where he can scream and shout about how happy he is without the fear of being forced down. Because Louis really is fearless. Except when it comes to me. I’m his biggest fear. He’s scared of losing me, he says. But if we weren’t together… if I wasn’t here, then nothing would be holding him back. I always feel threads of my sanity being unwoven whenever people go after our families. Because really, that’s our _families_. And if _we’re_ getting death threats and our _girlfriends_ (fake or not) are getting death threats… how long till…? I sob, and run a hand through my messy curls at the thought of losing Mum or Gemma. I sob harder at the thought of Louis losing Jay, or one of his sisters.

Scrolling back up to the previous question, I can’t help but think that this girl is dead on when she says you can’t be considered a real person once you get past a certain level of famous. Because if people can go around throwing death threats like they’re _nothing_ , then something in their brain must tell them that this famous person is too above them to care, or _something_ that suddenly makes them untouchable, unbreakable, invincible. Like words don’t bother us anymore. Just because we say something along the lines of ‘you just can’t let bad people get to you’ with a smile on our faces.

I’ll let you in on a little secret though. We are touchable. We are breakable. We’re not invincible.  And believe it or not, words get to us. And they fucking hurt. Even if we slap on a fake smile and say they don’t.

This just makes me feel even worse, because do I really have no control over myself anymore? Why can’t I just ‘ _leave and ignore this_ ’? Really, it’s not like I’m being forced to stay on this site and read this torture. I wipe my eyes on the hood of the sweatshirt and wipe my runny nose with its sleeve which I realize a second too late belongs to Louis. And then I let out a pathetic little sob because I’m getting teary snot all over his hoodie. Then I just start thinking about how I wish Louis was here right now. How he would just get back from his ‘date’ and hold me. Then I think about how pathetic that is that I’m an eighteen year old sobbing on the couch over some girl’s blog waiting for his boyfriend to come back home. Back to being a secret. Back to being a _lie_.

My eyes are starting to hurt from being in the now darkened room with only the laptop’s light shining into them. I can’t help but think it’s a good thing too or else I’d be stuck on here forever, slowly pulling apart any good sense I may have had before Louis left.

Speaking of Louis… I can’t help but let out a choked little sob as I read the one I dubbed as the ‘ _last one and then I promise I’ll stop looking’_.

I lose it then because… because she’s _right_. I slam the laptop lid down with a snap and shove it off my lap, my legs now hot from it sitting too long on them. I barely notice though as  I stumble to the kitchen, hardly watching where I’m going. I head to the fridge to get something to drink, because my throat is dry and cracked.

_I don’t think Louis really **likes** Harry that much anymore._

I have to spit the water back out into the sink because my sobbing isn’t letting it go down properly. I think of all the times Louis told me he was too tired to do something, or just not in the mood. I think of how he’s out with Eleanor right now as I make my way to our bathroom.

_He makes his life **harder**._

I sit down on the toilet lid and jam my elbows onto my leg and bury my head in my hands as tremors rock my body. I think of all the times I’ve seen Louis scroll through his Twitter feed and remember the times his eyes dimmed. I remember how I knew that it was because he read something mean about him. I remember asking him if he was okay and how he just smiled and said, ‘ _yeah, love. Of course I am._ ’

_It would just be **easier** for him if Harry was **gone**._

I think of last week how Louis got grilled by management about us almost being caught kissing in the hallway before a live show- a fan got lost on her way to the bathroom. I remember how it had been me who had dragged Louis to that secluded spot because I had just gone all day with barely touching him. I remember the look of annoyance on his face when management told him that _he_ couldn’t afford to make mistakes like that. I wrap my arms around my middle and feel big, fat, pathetic tear drops drip onto my arm as I remember how Louis didn’t even try to say how it had been my fault we’d almost gotten caught.

“Why don’t you ever tell them it’s my fault, Lou?” I asked once when we were in bed and it was dark and we were playing a game of thumb war, my head on his chest.

Sighing, Louis managed to get his little thumb over mine and trap it. “I don’t know, Harry. I’m the oldest, so I guess everyone feels it’s easier to just put the responsibility on me.”

“That’s hardly fair,” I argued softly, tangling our fingers now that he had won.

Louis pressed a kiss to the side of my head. “It’s just easier, love.”

Every member of our band has found it easier to just take sleeping pills while on tour. The thing is, I guess we kind of got addicted to them because now no one can sleep without taking them usually. Except Zayn. Zayn can sleep on command. I kind of envy him on that, but not at this moment. Because right now, I’m just tired. Really fucking tired. Exhausted, really. I don’t even feel like half of the tiredness is mine. I’m tired for Louis. Tired of making him do all the work, making him take all the pain that comes from _our_ relationship. Something that’s supposed to go both ways. And even though I definitely get my fair share of hate- like a whole blog, apparently- I feel like I’ve done _nothing_ compared to Louis. And I feel so, _so_ bad about that.

_And he didn’t have to worry about all the **bullshit** that surrounds them._

I’ve stopped crying now.

People say that people who commit suicide are attention whores. They say that they’re selfish because they just want people to notice them. Well they’re right. It’s unnatural for someone to want to die. So I think that they subconsciously send out signals, hoping, or praying that someone will notice. People say people who commit suicide are weak. Well they’re wrong. Maybe, the weak thing to do is just go through life, hoping someone will notice that you want help. That you’re sad. That you’re not happy. Maybe being weak is going through life, just waiting. If you truly believe that no one loves you, then you’re weak for sticking around for this long. Because odds are, if they haven’t noticed yet, they’re not gonna notice anytime soon. So, maybe being strong is having the willpower to end it. Maybe being strong means taking matters into your own hands. If it’s your life, live it. If it’s your life, end it. Don’t let someone else decide what you do with it. Because in the end, people come and people go. People live and people die.

At least, that’s what I tell myself when I grab the full bottle of pills from the cabinet.

**~o~**

**“I’ve always wanted to be one of those people who didn’t really care that much about what people thought about them. But I just don’t think I am.”**

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys didn’t find it lazy of me for using screen shots from the blog (yes, they’re all real, nothing’s edited [except the scratched out names]) but I wanted to make it more.. idk, authentic? anyway, thanks for reading! sequel getting posted soon x


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